Benefit brownies

I know, I've said it a dozen times before -- I'm going to slow down. I feel like a smoker who keeps saying she's going to quit. I slow down for a week or two, then get bored and jump into some new project that escalates and grows until I'm as busy as ever. I'm hoping, really hoping, that this last medical scare is big enough to convince me to change my lifestyle for good. My wonderful husband and daughter are all over my case about it.

I have to recognize that slowing down physically doesn't require me to stop being productive or useful. I just have to do more of it from my desk and less from the car. I have to organize and build my volunteer network so that when stores have food to donate, I don't have to get it myself. I have to get the app into my drivers' and donors' hands so we can work out all the kinks and then offer it to other communities to help solve the food waste problem.

All that is easier said than done. There are a lot of pieces I don't know how to accomplish yet, and I'll need more mental energy than I have this week. Here's hoping healing comes quickly, at least to my mind and spirits, so I can tackle the puzzles at hand.

This is such a tiny thing in the grand scheme of life. Change your lifestyle. Sure, OK, I'm on it. But we don't like change, do we? We certainly don't like slowing down, accepting that we're able to do much less, cutting back the budget, downsizing the house, getting rid of all that stuff that we saved for a reason, some reason, that we can't remember anymore.

A friend was notified recently that her rent would be increasing by 50%. No way her modest budget could accommodate that. She's lucky to have adult children nearby who own their home. They've converted a back yard shed into a granny pod -- a 500 square foot cottage where she can live within her means. 500 square feet. My closet is more than 500 square feet, and sometimes it's not big enough!

How do we change? Slow down? Cut back? Downsize? How do we take everything that represents our lives, our impact on the world, our dreams, and our hearts, and slash it down to 500 square feet, or to the limits set by doctors, or to live within our means when our means don't seem to be nearly enough? How does the disabled senior employee provide for herself when the job dries up? How does the self-employed guy bounce back when illness closes his business? How indeed.

I saw a real estate listing today for a house over on the east side of Portland (which I've always thought of as lower in property value than the Bethany area where we live). The home is about the same size as ours, maybe slightly larger, but only three bedrooms and on a smaller lot than ours. It's nicely landscaped and has a lot more curb appeal than ours. (Someday I'll have my garden -- someday.) It was built 90 years ago, compared to our 50 year old home. The asking price? $725,000. Dollars. Srsly. It's a cute house, but come on!

Less than 20% of homes being built today are considered "entry-level," that is, inexpensive enough for a first-time buyer to hope to qualify for one at some point. If they've saved $20,000 or more, if they have perfect credit including paying all their student loans and medical bills on time, and if they can gather enough roommates to share the mortgage payment. Some pretty big ifs.

Just as we baby boomers are aging and cutting back and downsizing, our society is facing similar changes. Gone are the days of throwing anything and everything in the trash, of buying imported out-of-season fruit, of flying off for vacation anywhere we wish. The world needs to cut back. We need to get off fossil fuel and quit with the landfill system already. We need to grow vegetables instead of lawns and buy local and be mindful of the destruction left in the wake of our choices. We need to buy less and reuse more. And we need to teach our young people how to walk gently on this planet and to share it with people of all shapes and sizes and colors and faiths, not to mention all other forms of life we're lucky enough to share this home with.

We have to change. We know it. We don't like it. We have to do it anyway. And it's not going to be pretty. We're going to try and fail and try again and forget and retry and need one another to remind us why it's important. It's as hard as quitting smoking, as an addict choosing sobriety, as losing weight and embracing an active lifestyle. It's tough. Life is tough. I'm going to give it my best effort today. I'll deal with tomorrow when tomorrow comes.

A year ago, neither of my kids had jobs or any particular path for the future. My husband, unable to work, was facing the end of his disability insurance with no Social Security approval in sight. I, having already been declared disabled, was sitting at home not doing much of anything, which really doesn't suit me. I decided to get off my butt and do something productive, try to make a difference, try to lend a hand. I decided to raise money for a cause, get the kids involved in something meaningful they could put on their resumes, and build the potential for a future income if my husband's claim fell through.

The kids jumped in, eager to do the heavy work and be part of something good. We made it up as we went, and after a year, I have to say it's going surprisingly well. Then my son got a job and we've been missing his strength and energy. My daughter moved in with friends. A couple of other young people are willing to help, sometimes, but they need to be earning wages. Before you know it, I was doing the baking, the shopping, the food pick ups and deliveries, the market booths, the PR, the networking.

Did I mention that I'm disabled? Yeah, I'm not very good at that. I like to push myself, do my best, beat my own records. I don't want to pay for help that takes money away from desperately poor people. So I overdid, over-committed, over-worked, started forgetting to eat, neglected my water bottle. In just a few days, I was all used up. A five-day hospital stay got me re-hydrated, re-nourished,, re-oxygenated, and rested. They brought my blood pressure back up so I'd stay conscious, killed whatever infections were trying to take over, and forced me to sit still and learn to breathe again, literally.

This is one of the safety nets we tend to take for granted in America. I had a dozen doctors of various specialties studying my chart. I had this amazing team of nurses that got to know me, cared about me personally, took responsibility for my recovery. I had two different IVs and a machine that programmed fluid and medication volume down to the second. An hour didn't go by when they didn't check my blood pressure, oxygen, temperature, and pulse. Medications were ordered and arrived in moments. Housekeeping came in twice a day to sanitize. When I buzzed the nurses' station, I had help in less than a minute. I had a private room with a beautiful view, a large bathroom, luxurious shower, my own thermostat, a recliner for me and another chair for visitors.

Why has healthcare gotten so expensive? Because it's gotten so GOOD. We expect the best that science and technology have to offer. Gone are the days of rows of beds with nurses holding wrists and looking at watches. No more are we prepared to hear, "I'm sorry, we don't have any medication for you, but we'll try to get some soon." An on-call general practice doctor when I arrive in the ER? Absolutely not -- we have specialists and consultations and hospitalists who, in addition to our cure doctors, serve as our continuity of care doctors. Oh,, and of course we have wi-fi in every department.

I'm embarrassed. I brought my illness on myself, and I should have known better. I should take more responsibility for my own health and quit relying on medical services to rescue me. I'm embarrassed that I took so much valuable time from busy professionals, that I used so many resources, that I wallowed in luxury while my friends downtown wondered if that lady with the bagels was going to show up so they could eat something today.

The tough decision is choosing between making some serious money to do bigger, better projects to fight food waste and hunger, or easing up on the physical demands and settling for a smaller impact in the interest of my own health. I've never been good at taking care of my physical self. Give me intellect or emotion or spirituality any day. But here we are. I'll be hanging up my baker's hat and taking Waste Not Food Taxi in another direction. Not because I can't do it, but because the abundance of care and resources and time and money it takes to back me up only takes all those things away from people who are suffering through no fault of their own.

We are surrounded, inundated, overwhelmed with abundance of care, of material possessions, of money and choices and opportunities. That's OK. We can have all that and be grateful for it. But we cannot squander it. We cannot take our privilege for granted. We cannot believe that we have all this because we deserve it or because we're somehow better or more worthy than the huge percentage of the world that must do without.

With privilege and abundance comes responsibility. We are in a unique position to use all these resources to make life better for so many others. To preserve the natural world that we depend on for existence. To reverse the mistakes of our predecessors and put mankind on a path toward life and health and dignity for all of us. I don't have the right to ignore my responsibility for health because my ego wants to do bigger things.

​I have received an abundance of care. It's up to me to make sure it isn't wasted.